Concussions And Good Old Fashioned Awkwardness
by Belldere
Summary: When John lands himself in hospital... again, all he wants is to just get out of there as soon as possible, too bad his doctor has other ideas about where John may be getting his injuries. Good thing concussions make everything strangely funnier


John was in hospital.

Again.

It seemed that Sherlock had, once again, failed to call for backup which, of course, resulted in several nasty scrapes to John's side and a rather worrying concussion that left tiny little Sherlock's running a halo around his injured head. The black eye on top of all of this was just a bonus.

It was getting ridiculous really, how many times he'd been carted to hospital by a surprisingly overbearing Sherlock. This would make twelve just in the past four months.

Really it just wasn't fair, Sherlock always refused to ever come to the hospital but forced John there for every little thing. The doctors were starting to know him on a first name basis for goodness sakes. It was bloody ridiculous.

Sherlock had long since dramatically swooped from the room with an ominous "I shall return later", John's injuries always did make him more insufferably pretentious than usual, so John was alone with a young fair haired doctor who, apparently, was deemed attractive enough to stop young men and women at the doorway to gape at him for several moments before scurrying away.

John was just about getting fed up with the amount of people staring into his room when he was finally, FINALLY, cleared to go but, before he could stand up, the doctor placed a hand on his chest.

"Just one moment John" he said, his handsome face scrunched with concern.

John decisively removed the hand from his chest before answering as politely as his throbbing headache and rising irritation would allow "what is it Doctor Reynolds?"

The doctor reddened almost imperceptibly before saying "oh please, call me Haydon."

John's eyebrows contracted "er… right… Haydon. Well, listen… Haydon, I'd really like to get back home now so if you'd excuse me…" John attempted to stand; sliding out of the way of Haydon's halting hands only for the doctor to step right into his path, preventing him from leaving.

"If you insist on leaving John… then at least take this" Haydon hastily wrote what looked like a helpline on it and handed it to John.

"What's this for?" John asked confusedly, holding up the number.

The doctor looked uneasy before finally saying "I don't usually pry, I promise you that, it's just…" he paused for a moment, wringing his hands, "I just can't watch another patient put up with abuse at home."

And then it all clicked in John's head, and with that connection a floodgate burst open.

John laughed manically for a good solid five minutes before it began to peter out, and before the doctor calmly called over his cackling "Domestic violence is no joke John, if your boyfriend won't stop hurting you, you need to get out."

John's eyes widened and his nose crinkled in an effort to keep from laughing in the poor man's face at the absurdity of it all.

Why is it that concussions always made everything seem funnier?

It was only when Haydon began to look irritated that John reigned himself in. "My flatmate" he explained, enunciating the word "is a detective, not some abusive boyfriend. Sometimes I assist him on cases that are a little dangerous which is why I end up here a lot."

John was still trying not to laugh when Haydon said a soft 'oh'.

"Besides I could snap that malnourished stick figure like a twig, trust me" John chuckled darkly, knowing that that fight would never happen for them to find out if he were right.

John tried to leave the room a third time, only to find his way blocked once more "so I guess this means I'm not your doctor anymore" the young doctor said with a brilliant smile "officially…"

"Yeah" John said slowly "so I'd appreciate it if you moved. I have a date to apologise to."

"Oh." Haydon's face fell "you're seeing someone."

John felt as though somebody had slipped an ice cube down the back of his shirt.

Well that was unexpected.

"I hate to break it to you, but I'm not gay" he said, perhaps a little more harshly than the situation called for but considering he had, in the last twenty-four hours, been asked out by a grand total of thirteen people, all of them men thanks to Sherlock's 'case', he felt no guilt at all in rebuking Haydon's advances.

Honestly he didn't even get this many guys asking him out when he was forced to go with Harry to gay bars when they were young.

"So I guess I shouldn't ask you out then?" Haydon persisted.

John rolled his eyes; now that was persistent to the point of stupidity "No!"

The poor boy didn't look at all put out as he watched John part from the room, tilting his head a little to get a better look at the… view.

"Damn that's hot."

Sherlock ran into John outside his room but before he could speak John held up a hand "I don't want to talk about it."

He simply shook his head at John, a smirk hinting at the corners of his lips. "Oh John," he sighed in mock dismay, "men too now? Aren't we popular."

And before John knew what he was planning, Sherlock had stuck his head around the doorframe and simply yelled "my John!" before sweeping out once more, protesting army doctor in tow.


End file.
